A Natural Woman

by Lori Johnson

  Aliesha found Peaches seated in the stylist’s chair at her workstation. A pair of sunglasses and a colorful scarf adorned her bald head, while a contented smile brightened her face. “Hey there, Miz Babygirl,” she said in her soft, shy voice.

  “Hey there yourself, Miz Peaches,” Aliesha said. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever come in here and seen you without a customer.”

  “Since I knew you were coming, I picked up the pace a bit and didn’t let nobody waste a whole lot of my time yakking. You being so nice to treat me to dinner and all, I didn’t want to keep you waiting.” She leaned forward and inhaled. “Sure smells good.”

  “Well, come on and let’s get our grub on,” Aliesha said.

  Peaches led the way. Had it not been for her unveiled and sunken eyes, few onlookers would have been able to tell she couldn’t see a thing. She walked with confidence, employing a series of soft clicks with her tongue to navigate the room and steer around obstacles that might have caused her to trip, fall, or injure herself.

  Upon entering the shop’s break room, Peaches kept walking straight toward the refrigerator, while Aliesha detoured toward the banquet table in the center of the room, where she began removing the warm cartons of food from the bags she’d brought in.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Peaches asked.

  “A bottle of water would be great,” Aliesha said.

  In addition to Aliesha’s water, Peaches brought a soft drink for herself, a couple of paper plates, some plasticware, and a handful of napkins to the table. Aliesha watched, marveling at the blind woman’s keen sense of balance and spatial orientation as she first arranged the items on the table and then helped herself to the egg rolls, bourbon chicken, and shrimp fried rice and all without knocking over anything, accidentally dipping a stray finger anywhere, or spilling so much as a single grain.

  Peaches had never been known to be much of a talker, so as usual the burden of keeping the conversation flowing fell on Aliesha. But in anticipation of their meeting that evening, she’d vowed not to let that fact fluster her, like it had on so many other occasions in the past. Truth be told, in the last few months she had grown more tolerant of lulls and dead space, if only because her relationship with Javiel had provided her with plenty of them. She and Peaches chatted about a number of mundane things: the food; the weather; how business had been lately at the shop; how Peaches had been doing as far as managing the affairs of the house by herself; and even “King,” the last stray mutt Miss Margie had insisted on making her pet before her passing.

  Most of Peaches’s replies had been of the basic “yes, no, maybe, I don’t know” variety and without much elaboration. But when the topic of church arose, she’d surprised Aliesha when she asked, “So, how are things with you over at Garden View?”

  “Great,” Aliesha said. She went on to mention a few of the outreach projects in which she’d recently become involved. But somewhere in mid-ramble, she’d suddenly recalled Peaches’s dead-on prediction about Kenneth. She wondered if the church inquiry had, in fact, been a subtle dig for clues on the status of her and Kenneth’s relationship.

  “Remember that time me and Mama surprised you by showing up there for your birthday?” Peaches said. “We had a good ole time. The sanging wasn’t all that great, but I really enjoyed the sermon and the fellowship.”

  The memory swept through Aliesha like a soothing balm and eased some of the tension in her neck and shoulders. Outside of a great uncle and few cousins, none of whom she spoke to or visited regularly, her only real family since she’d moved back to Riverton had been Miss Margie and Peaches. She smiled. “I’ll have to make arrangements for you to visit with us again sometime. If you want, I’ll swing by and pick you up tomorrow.”

  Peaches nodded. “I would, but I don’t want to be no bother. Mama told me before she passed, ‘Aliesha’s got a tough job up at that school, so don’t be pestering her with a whole lot of nonsense after I’m gone.’ So, if another Sunday’s better for you—”

  “No, no,” Aliesha said. “Tomorrow’s good. It’s no bother at all.” She told Peaches what time to expect her and went on to mention the chapter and verses they’d be discussing in her Sunday school class. The almost girlish delight Peaches expressed about the prospective church outing both tickled and humbled Aliesha. Even though their conversation became much more relaxed and effortless from that point on, Aliesha waited until they’d both eaten their fill before she mentioned that she’d started seeing a new hairstylist.

  “Yeah,” Peaches said. “I heard you talking to Jill about it. I started to ask you to let me see, but then I remembered how that sort of thing always seems to weird you out.”

  “It’s still natural,” Aliesha said. “All he does is cut, wash, and style it. But given that everyone’s been complimenting me on it, I was kinda hoping to get your professional opinion.”

  “Really?” Peaches said.

  “Sure,” Aliesha said, hoping she wouldn’t live to regret the decision.

  Peaches wiped her fingers clean before she stood and walked around to Aliesha’s side of the table. When she stretched out her hands, Aliesha braced herself and resisted the urge to close her eyes. Peaches patted the contours of Aliesha’s natural. Around the temples, at the base of her neck, and at the very top of Aliesha’s head, Peaches eased her fingers into the soft tangles and curls until she touched scalp.

  “Well,” Aliesha said, unable to keep from breaking into a squirm.

  A huge grin formed on the blind woman’s face. Aliesha couldn’t recall having ever seen her stretch her lips that wide or show that many teeth.

  “He’s good,” Peaches said with a slow twist of her head that cast her smile toward the heavens. “Real good.”

  The garage door’s grind ended with a resounding click against the cement floor. Aliesha glanced at her reflection in the car’s rearview mirror, patted her hair, and smiled. After having spoken with Peaches, she felt a sense of relief and reassurance, not only about Dante but also about her own ability to keep her word.

  She reached for her bag and was about to open her car door when she heard the phone. She pulled it out and frowned at the scroll of Javiel’s number in the brightly lit display window. For a few seconds she contemplated whether to answer.

  She hadn’t spoken with Javiel since accompanying him to her front door after their spat on Wednesday night. A break from one another is what she thought had been their mutual agreement. So after the passage of barely two and a half days, what would ever possess him to call and take a chance on further stoking her discontent?

  She bit her lip and muttered a curse prior to mashing the phone against her ear and offering up a louder than usual “Hello” as she exited the vehicle.

  “It’s over,” he said. “I’m coming by to get my things.”

  “What?” she said, simultaneously confused and irritated. She stopped jiggling the keys in the door that led from the garage into the house and said, “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about you and me!” Javiel said in a raised and excited voice. “We’re done. I’m on my way over to get my things and to bring you yours.”

  Aliesha gave the key stuck in the knob a hard twist and pushed open the door. “You mind telling me what brought all of this on?”

  “Like you care,” Javiel said. “I guess you didn’t think I’d find out about you snooping around my house and telling people you suspect I’m some kind of mad serial killer.”

  Aliesha walked across the kitchen and pressed her forehead against a cabinet. “Would you calm down. If you’d give me a chance, I can explain.”

  “No more explanations! No more chances!” Javiel shouted. “It’s over between us. Why would you want to be with someone you think is capable of murder, anyway?”

  He hung up before she could respond. A few minutes later when her phone rang again, she snatched it up and said, “Look, Javiel—”

  “It’s not Javiel,” Monica said. “B
ut he’s on his way over. And he’s mad as all get-out.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Aliesha said. “He just called. So what did you do? Start running your mouth and accidentally spill all the beans?”

  “No, I did not,” Monica said, sounding sincerely insulted. “Obviously, he and Jesus started trading notes about some of the questions you and I have been asking of late and they put two and two together. When Jesus called me a few minutes ago, I could barely hear him over all of Javiel’s ranting and raving in the background.”

  Aliesha groaned. “I’m sorry I got you guys mixed up in this. Hopefully he will have calmed down by the time he makes it over here.”

  “I don’t know, girl. I’ve always know Javi to be such a mild-mannered guy. To be honest, listening to just how irate and out-of-control he sounded kind of frightened me. Just to be on the safe side, I made Jesus follow him in his car. Matter of fact, I should be there myself in about ten minutes or so.”

  “Yeah, that’s the ticket. We’ll just have us one big, impromptu farewell bash. Are you planning on stopping along the way and picking up a few refreshments, too?”

  “Shut up,” Monica said. “Like I said, I’ll be there in a few. But if things get out of hand before then, give me a call. Okay?”

  Aliesha agreed, and after hanging up she nearly followed through on her sudden urge to pop the cork on the leftover bottle of white wine in her refrigerator, turn up the bottle by the neck, and have herself a good, long guzzle. But she knew the liquor wasn’t likely to do much beyond loosen her tongue, which in turn would only end up making even funkier the foul attitude Javiel had let her know he was bringing with him.

  Deciding she’d make it easier on everyone, she trudged upstairs and started collecting Javiel’s belongings from her closet and out of her drawers. There really wasn’t a whole lot—a few shirts, a couple sets of underwear, some socks, and a spare pair of jeans. She laid each item neatly across her bed. While going about the task, it struck her that even though she and Javiel were on the verge of splitting up, she didn’t feel even the tiniest bit of sadness, anger, or remorse. Instead, she felt oddly resigned to the fact, the exact opposite of what she’d felt on the onset of her breakup with Kenneth.

  She’d ventured into the bathroom and had begun arranging Javiel’s toiletries in a central spot on the vanity when she heard the doorbell. By the time she reached the living room, the insistent chime had been replaced by a repetitive thump and pound.

  “Hold on! I’m coming!” she yelled. When she finally opened the door, Javiel barged in swinging a small overnight bag at the end of one arm and cradling a wadded pile of her clothing in the other. A sheepish-looking Jesus trailed behind him.

  “Is this really necessary?” Aliesha asked.

  “Oh, you expect me to be civil?!” Javiel shouted. “Me, the man you’ve accused of being a got-damn murderer?”

  “I never accused you of—” Aliesha stopped and threw up her hands when instead of even pretending to listen, Javiel marched past her and proceeded upstairs.

  Jesus raised his own hands prior to falling into a chair. “Hey, don’t look at me. I tried reasoning with him. But the more I talked, the angrier he got. I wouldn’t be here now if Monica hadn’t insisted I come along just to make sure he didn’t make an even bigger ass of himself.”

  When she started upstairs, Jesus said, “Aliesha, forgive me for getting any deeper into your business, but you sure you just don’t want to leave him be? Sometimes when he gets like this, it’s just best to leave him alone.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’d rather we’d both say whatever’s left to be said and be done with it. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

  Even though she’d reassured Jesus and blown off Monica’s concerns, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure how Javiel would react once alone with her. She paused at the top of the stairs and spent a moment doing her breathing exercises until she felt centered and calm. When she walked in, she found him double-checking the drawers she’d already emptied of his clothing and personal items. She circled past him and sat down on the side of the bed where he’d deposited her belongings.

  For a couple of minutes, neither uttered a word as he packed the small bag he’d brought in with him. Finally, he paused and looked at her with eyes that were simultaneously inflamed and water-filled. “If you didn’t want to be with me anymore, Aliesha, you should have just said so. Instead, for the past couple of weeks you’ve been picking fights with me over dumb shit like meeting my parents, going to church, your got-damn hair. Now I find out you’ve been telling people you think I’m a murderer?”

  Had she consumed some of the wine, like she’d wanted to earlier, she just might have voiced her initial thought, which was, Well, you really do have your meddling-ass mama to blame for that last item. Instead, she dropped her head and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He shoved an item into the bag. “In the five months we’ve been together, I’ve been nothing but faithful and loving and attentive. For most women that would have been more than enough.”

  She looked up and, in a voice minus any rancor or maliciousness, said, “I’m not most women.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe that’s your problem,” Javiel said, raising his own voice a bit.

  “No doubt it is,” she said, turning her focus to a flaw she’d noticed in her bed’s comforter.

  “I loved you,” he said in angry whisper. “What more could I have possibly done?”

  Moved by the depth of his hurt and helplessness, and the role she’d played in their creation, she placed a hand against the knot growing in her throat. “Javiel, all I ever wanted was for you to see me. I thought you did. But I was wrong.”

  “See you? I built a holy fucking shrine to your image. But according to you, I’m blind?!” He zipped up his bag and snatched it from her bed. “Whatever, babe. I’m through trying to please you. This is some bullshit I could just as well live without.”

  He skipped the formality of a good-bye, bolted from the room, and practically ran down the flight of stairs. By the time she made it down to the living room, he had already jumped into his car and started the engine. Monica, who’d arrived at some point, whispered a few parting words to Jesus before sending him off with a kiss.

  “You okay?” Monica asked, after the front door closed.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” Aliesha said. She wrapped her arms around herself and put on a fake happy face.

  Monica studied Aliesha for a couple of seconds, then tossed her purse into a chair. “Why don’t I make us some tea?”

  Aliesha shook her head. “Be my guest. I’m in the mood for a bit of wine myself.”

  Monica walked over and gently pried apart Aliesha’s self-embrace. She then circled one of her own arms protectively around one of her friend’s. “Well, you know I’m not much of a drinker,” she said as they ambled toward the kitchen. “But watching you get sloshed might be kinda fun.”

  Aliesha chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you, girlfriend, but all I want is a little something to take the edge off. I’ve got a Sunday school class to teach in the morning and I’m not about to step up in there with a hangover.”

  “Oh hell,” Monica said. “Like it would devastate any of those Holy Rollers you hang with to see you let your hair down just this once. From what I understand, even Jesus himself got his sip on every now and then.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Similar to the meeting at the beauty shop, the Sunday church outing with Peaches turned out a lot better than Aliesha had anticipated. Her jaw dropped considerably on noting that rather than settle into a quiet corner and be content with listening, Peaches wasted nary a second in jumping tongue first into the fray—asking questions, sharing her own opinions, and at times adamantly voicing her dissent—when the highly opinionated regulars of Aliesha’s class launched into their usual lively discussion and debate of the Sunday school lesson. Aliesha realized she was witnessing a side of the bald, blind clairvoyant she never even kne
w existed. She wondered if that particular feature of Peaches’s personality was something new or if perhaps it had always been there and she had just been too silly and skittish to look for the length of time required to see it.

  She’d found equally pleasing the way Tamara had immediately taken to Peaches. Had anyone asked prior to her arrival at Garden View that morning, Aliesha would have been forced to confess she had prayed that her mouthy student would either stay at home or select some other church to visit. But during the course of the occasionally heated discourse, Tamara had not only shown an early inclination to side with Peaches’s point of view, but before the class ended she’d all but designated herself the woman’s cheerleader. “I know that’s right, girl. Uh-huh, talk about it. Amen! Amen!”

  After Sunday school rather than head out after a quick good-bye, Tamara stayed through the end of service and pestered Aliesha into letting her join the twosome for lunch. Unable to contain her fascination and intrigue, while walking with them to the church’s parking lot, Tamara had peppered Aliesha with a barrage of questions and comments. “So how long have you known her? Is she a professor or a seminary student somewhere? And that beautiful singing voice! I can’t decide if she sounds more like a Mavis Staples or a Cassandra Wilson. She kind of reminds you of that African model, Alek Wek, don’t you think?”

  When Tamara had finally paused for a breath, Aliesha had quickly seized the opening and said, “We’ve known each other since we were kids. And no, she’s not a professor or a student, she’s a hairstylist. I’d definitely say her sound is more Cassandra than Mavis. And now that you’ve mentioned it, I guess she does resemble Alek Wek a bit.” When Aliesha noticed Tamara raring up for another round, she’d quickly added, “But for the record, you might want to keep in mind that Peaches is blind, not deaf.”